


Meeting of Quiet Minds

by Virtuella



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-20
Updated: 2010-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtuella/pseuds/Virtuella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first meeting of Arwen and Gilraen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting of Quiet Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. With thanks to Dawn Felagund for her advice.

So this was the young man’s mother. They had both bowed their heads in greeting when Elrond had introduced them and now they were left to each other’s company, presumably to converse politely about ladylike matters. But Arwen found it hard to think of aught to say and the Dunadan Woman only looked at her with shy deference.

 

“May I?” said Arwen at last and sat down at the other end of the bench. The Woman nodded, smiled, and lifted her embroidery closer to her eyes. Arwen, with no needlework of her own at hand, glanced out of the window at the two oak trees she had planted before she had left Imladris for Lothlorien. She was pleased to see them grown so tall and strong. Every now and then, she stole a glimpse at the Woman, discreetly, so as not to intimidate her. Once, by chance, their eyes met and they smiled and then each averted her gaze again.

 

Little by little, Arwen began to get a picture of her companion. She had an oval face and large eyes under strong brows. A shaft of sunlight that sneaked in from between the trees revealed a dull patch where the fair hair was turning grey.  On her right hand, the skin had toughened in places from holding the needle. Arwen rubbed her own smooth fingers together, fingers that had held needles for more hours than those trees bore leaves. She needed no mirror to know that thousands of years had left no trace on her hair and skin, while a few decades had carved lines into the face of the Dunadan Woman, bearing witness to her joys and her sorrows alike.

 

She was slender in her green gown of Elven fashion, silken and tight fitting, but under the thin fabric lay barely hidden the signs that told the tale of childbearing and nursing. Arwen lowered her eyelids and secretly looked down at her own high, firm breasts, untouched by the years, untouched by anyone. Her maiden body was strong, supple and perfect, and might have been barren for all she knew.

 

She caught the Woman’s eyes again, and this time their smiles were deeper, warmer. Arwen was struck by the loveliness of the aging face.

 

Outside, a squirrel raced up a tree, stopped, turned with a jerky movement and disappeared behind the trunk. Only his twitching tail remained visible. A second later, that was gone, too, and the scene lay still as if the little animal had never been.

 

“Lady Gilraen,” said Arwen. “I wish…”


End file.
